Is This Another Suez Moment?

History doesn’t repeat, but it does rhyme.

I keep seeing parallels in recent events with another moment: the Suez Crisis.

A quick refresher.

On July 26, 1956, Egyptian President Gamal Abdel Nasser nationalized the Suez Canal Company, a joint British-French enterprise that had operated the canal since 1869.

Nasser made the move in direct response to the United States and Great Britain withdrawing financial support for the Aswan High Dam. His plan was simple: use canal tolls to fund its construction.

Fearing for their oil supply and strategic position, Britain and France formed a secret alliance with Israel to retake the canal by force.

In October 1956, Israel invaded the Sinai Peninsula, providing a pretext for British and French forces to intervene as “peacekeepers” and occupy the Canal Zone.

Militarily, the operation was largely successful. Politically, it was a disaster.

Egypt blocked the canal by sinking ships. The international community reacted with immediate and severe condemnation. U.S. President Dwight D. Eisenhower, furious at the deception, threatened Britain with economic sanctions and a run on the pound. At the same time, the Soviet Union threatened intervention, raising the specter of a wider war within the broader context of the Cold War.

The United Nations deployed its first-ever peacekeeping force. By March 1957, foreign troops withdrew, and the canal reopened under Egyptian control.

The outcome was decisive. Nasser emerged as a hero of Arab nationalism, and the crisis marked the end of British and French imperial dominance in the Middle East.

Now consider the present.

In this scenario, it’s not Suez but the Strait of Hormuz. Egypt is replaced by Iran. And instead of Britain and France acting alongside Israel, it is the United States. Russia, in turn, plays a role analogous to the Soviet Union. The United Nations, this time, appears diminished—unable to exert meaningful influence.

In 1956, the United States acted as a restraining force on its allies. Today, it is a principal actor. Bahrain, United Arab Emirates, Kuwait, and Qatar are sovereign, wealthy, and deeply integrated into global markets with everything at stake.

Imagine the outcome.

Iran establishes a de facto toll system in the Strait, allowing passage to its own vessels and those willing to pay. After a period of escalation, the United States—seeking to avoid a wider war—unilaterally ends hostilities.

Iran then declares the toll permanent, framing it as both sovereign right and reparations for wartime damage.

What do the Gulf states do?

Publicly, they would reject it outright. Freedom of navigation is not an abstract principle for them; it is the foundation of their economic survival. Accepting such a regime would signal weakness and erode sovereignty.

My guess is they would comply, quietly, to keep oil and gas flowing—especially Qatar, whose exports depend heavily on that passage. The result would be a dual reality: formal opposition paired with practical accommodation.

More significantly, they would begin to rebalance their strategic relationships.

If the United States proves unwilling or unable to guarantee open passage, confidence in its security umbrella weakens. That doesn’t mean abandonment—but it does mean diversification. Ties with China and Russia deepen, not as replacements, but as hedges.

And perhaps most quietly, they would explore accommodation with Iran itself.

If Iran emerges from such a confrontation appearing resilient—or even victorious—the incentive shifts toward de-escalation. Diplomatic channels reopen. A tacit equilibrium forms.

Because for these states, the priority is not ideological victory. It is survival.

This is where the historical rhyme is strongest.

In 1956, Britain and France achieved their military objectives but suffered a lasting political defeat. Nasser, despite battlefield setbacks, emerged stronger.

In this scenario, Iran would not need a decisive military victory to claim success. Endurance alone—combined with the perception of having stood up to the United States—could be enough.

And that perception would reshape the region, and in the process power relationships around the world.

Stephen Lewis (1937-2026)

You can’t script it in a more touching way.

Stephen Lewis was gravely ill in hospice on Sunday when he watched on television his son Avi Lewis win the leadership of the federal New Democratic Party. He passed away two days later at the age of 88.

Lewis served as an elected member of the Ontario legislature and later as leader of the provincial NDP. But most of his public life was spent in other roles: as a special advisor on race relations in Ontario, Canada’s Permanent Representative to the UN, Deputy Director of UNICEF, and United Nations Special Envoy for HIV/AIDS in Africa.

I don’t think I ever voted for a New Democrat. But I always had a great deal of respect for Stephen Lewis—as a bridge builder, a humanitarian, and a statesman. He was respected across party lines, and, in my lifetime, one of the most thoughtful and articulate voices of Canadian values on both the national and international stage.

He was also heir to a Jewish dynasty in Canadian public life—one his son now carries forward. Stephen’s father, David Lewis, was a key figure in the Co-operative Commonwealth Federation, the forerunner to the NDP, and later served as federal NDP leader (1971–75), succeeding the party’s legendary founder Tommy Douglas, to whom we owe medicare.

The roots of the Lewis family’s political activism in Canada lie in the Jewish Labour Bund, the secular trade union and workers’ rights movement of Eastern Europe in the late 19th century.

When I mentioned David Lewis to my wife the other day, she said, “Oh—you mean the street.” Yes, there is a Rue David Lewis in Côte Saint-Luc. I chuckled, wondering how many people who live on that street know anything about the man it was named after. My guess is not many.

And I wonder how many supporters of the NDP across Canada—currently forming governments in British Columbia and Manitoba, and serving as Official Opposition in Alberta, Saskatchewan, Ontario, Nova Scotia, and Yukon—know that the party’s origins lie, in significant part, in the Jewish labour and social justice movement.

Israel - We need to have a word

You know how a true friend is one who is candid? They tell you the truth even when you may not want to hear it.

Israel. I love you. But we have to talk.

It seems you have a new law—a death penalty law. Death by hanging; which feels particularly archaic and barbaric. It brings to mind the gallows of the old west, the Nuremberg trials, even the Book of Esther.

I suppose I should be thankful stoning wasn’t chosen.

Admittedly, Jews have a history with the death penalty.

The Torah prescribes it for 36 offenses, including murder, kidnapping, and severe religious violations like idolatry and breaking the Sabbath.

However, the rabbis of the Talmud sharply restricted its use. The Mishnah teaches that a court that executes once in seventy years is considered “destructive.”

And of course there is the principle associated with Maimonides: better to acquit a thousand guilty people than to put a single innocent one to death.

For this reason, for many centuries, Jews have not been enthusiastic about capital punishment.

Modern Jewish movements—Conservative and Reform—have explicitly opposed it. Orthodox Judaism has never embraced it in practice either.

As for the modern State of Israel, capital punishment has been carried out only once, in the case of Adolf Eichmann.

Until now.

Because this proposed law is not exactly for Israelis. More for Palestinians. Not exactly for crimes inside Israel proper, but in the West Bank.

It targets terrorism: a person who intentionally causes death with the aim of harming a citizen or resident of Israel, and with the intent of rejecting the existence of the state.

The law outlines two tracks: one in Israeli civilian courts, and another in military courts in the West Bank—courts that try Palestinians under military law.

In that system, the sentence could become mandatory: death, and that penalty only.

So not only would a mandatory death sentence be new in Israeli law, it would, in practice, apply almost exclusively to Palestinians.

There is a term for when one law applies to one group and another to a different group: two-tiered justice. A less polite word is discrimination.

History offers examples of such systems. None are remembered kindly. And Israel has long resisted being associated with such comparisons—for good reason.

You might think discrimination only cuts one way. It doesn’t. It's said we've lost the war when we become our enemy's image of us.

I remember learning that, in its time, the Torah was relatively progressive in its treatment of the stranger—precisely because Israel knew what it meant to be one.

“You are to have the same law for the foreigner and the native-born.” (Leviticus 24:22)

On this day, Passover eve, it bears remembering.

The Israelites were subject to a different law than their taskmasters in Egypt.

It did not end well for Egypt.